


Alphabet

by Phosphorite



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Companion Piece, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorite/pseuds/Phosphorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alphabet for the inbetween days; an alphabet for snapshots in life. (An alphabet for all these ridiculous moments they shared over the years, forever encased in time.)</p>
<p>[A collection of one-shots to accompany a future origin fic, rating to go up later]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for aggravation

**Author's Note:**

> Confession: these one-shots were not going to see the light of day until a long later, once I had managed to at least partially complete the fic they are meant as an accompaniment for. In other words, I have an actual, longer origin fic in the works that maps out the relationship progress between these two morons, and Alphabet is meant as a side-along series of random snapshots within that larger narrative. However, since it might be a while before I have the chance to start properly publishing that fic, I realized I have a responsibility to the world to deliver more cute, happy, dumbass Aoki fics - and hence you'll get to read some of the letters in advance, as they more or less also work as standalone pieces too.
> 
> Chronologically they might bounce all over the place within the framework of an established relationship; the origin fic will ultimately explain the context better for some, but for the time being you can just treat them as individual one-shots that take place in the same continuum. The chapters will mostly contain nonsensical things like domesticity and humor, but will probably also feature pwp and whatever else inspires me. 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.

 

**A is for aggravation**

 

The clock hits exactly 2318 hours when he closes the door behind him. As the lock turns in place, it sends an additional thud up his spine. The sounds of the city grow muffled in the corridor and he draws in a deep breath, but it's to no avail; his nerves are so alight with irrational frustration and annoyance that he cannot help paying notice to the tiniest, infuriating little details.

The stupid little details which haunt him, even now. Somehow, everything about today has drifted along in an endless stream of half-hearted failures, and he doesn't have the patience nor the energy to face up to the biggest one of all; the failure that undoubtedly awaits him past the dim darkness of the hallway.

The mere thought makes him want to punch things out of feeble frustration.

How can everything about one single day go so perfectly awry all at once, anyway?

It's not like he intended to be late this morning. It's not like he _asked_ for his alarm to meltdown upon itself (or simply fail to go off, whatever), which sent him scrambling out of bed in record speed while haphazardly trying to remember which location he was even supposed to attend today. With such haste, perhaps a bad hair day was a given; the dark rings under his eyes were harder to conceal. If the director of photography hadn't had a go at him in front of everyone for being an hour and a half late, the makeup artist certainly would have.

The first shoot may have been over within hours and only cost him reasonable amounts of swallowed pride, with or without self-inflicted delay. Ironically, it was the commercial that followed which turned out to be a nightmare of epic proportions: located on the other side of the city, it had taken him another hour to so much as get to the set, and everything just snowballed from there. Half the crew seemed to continuously disappear, none of the takes were coming out right, and an assistant actually spilled a soft drink on his clothes and hair. Had he not slept in for an extra hour, maybe he could have had time to eat; as things unraveled, though, such hopes were as futile as they were infuriatingly self-sabotaged.

It rained on the way home, of course. On the train he realized he had forgotten his planner at the location of the final shoot, of course. By the ticket machines he slammed his knee into the gates trying to rush out before the evening crowd, of course, and by the time he made it back to the hallway of their apartment block, the lift was out of order, of course. Soaked, tired, hungry and most of all _pissed off_ , he even managed to graze his finger on the sharper edge of his keys, something that would have made him laugh out loud if he hadn't also been so insufferably _exhausted_. Of course, of course.

And hey. Normally, maybe all of this would have been something to bounce back from; but normally, he also would not have been at work counting down the hours as though each minute was precious and wasting away his life; normally, he wouldn't have been subconsciously praying for the day to be over so he could make it back home on time to spare at least a couple of hours before the clock hit midnight, like some kind of disjointed, foolish Cinderella.

But the clock hits 2318 hours and nothing's right, and the day is far from over.

There's a muffled sound coming from further within the apartment, like a TV feed turned down low. With each step towards the living room he can recognize more and more words from a variety show, one of the late night kind that he has never been able to figure out why Aomine is so fascinated with. On his way he passes the kitchen, which seems to have been hit by nothing short of a nuke; but it's not until he comes across the mess of clothes strewn out on the living room floor that his heart sinks.

It's not out of disdain, it's not out of anger. It's not out of any deliberately negative emotion, because suddenly all he feels is so–– defeated.

It's 2324 hours and Aomine's already fast asleep on the couch, like a frame out of a silent film. In thirty-six minutes it'll be midnight; in thirty-six minutes it'll be Thursday; and on Thursday morning Aomine won't be here anymore.

_It's only for a month just for a month you can deal with a month it's not so bad_ his ingrained defense mechanism of upbeat cheerfulness screams, but the words are underlined with mirthless futility; it doesn't matter, because it's 2326 hours anyway and Kise's undeniably, indisputably late for their last night together.

He feels like kicking things, he feels like screaming at things. He feels like throwing something at the cheerfully smiling TV presenter who pretends to be awfully enamored with whatever piece of food he's currently observing. But kicking things won't help take back the misfortunes of today; screaming at things won't help rewind time; throwing something at the guy in a stupid bowl cut would only break the screen of their TV and well...

...Sometimes Kise kind of thinks that there's a shift in the air, like a current that electrifies and alerts Aomine of his changes in mood, because as though on cue, there's a light frown on his forehead before a single eye cracks open. The entire left side of Aomine's face twists in a completely ridiculous, half-dozy expression as he mouths, "hnnh?" and for a moment Kise just stands still, speechless, before instinctively driving the ball of his foot into Aomine's side.

"You fell _asleep_?!"

Maybe it's not the best introduction ever, but he cannot help it; everything about Kise is still tingling with frustrated aggravation, as though the universe is testing how far it can pull his tether until it snaps. And alright, maybe it's sort of counter-productive to take that out on Aomine when the entire reason Kise is so pissed off to begin with is that he's been robbed of his final hours before an entire ocean comes between them for a month, but he cannot help it either; the helplessness comes out like a wave, washing over him like the rainstorm that left him soaked but minutes before.

Normally, this would be the point where the two of them get into an argument over pointless trivialities and waste even more time over nothing at all, but the upside to today's senseless stream of clusterfucks is that sooner or later it's bound to wind upon itself; and so, whether it's because of that, or because Aomine is simply still half-asleep and drowsy with delirium, his reflexes kick in and he yanks Kise down with a single haphazard tug on his arm.

(Alright, it has to be mostly drowsiness, because the angle is so off that Kise's chin lands against Aomine's shoulder and he nearly bites down on his own tongue, but at the same time the warmth is so familiar and comforting that the thought dissolves the second it occurs, lost in the way his head nestles against Aomine's chest.)

"You were asleep," he still repeats, as though on principle; there's no actual point to it, but he literally doesn't know what else to say. He wants to apologize, he wants to explain, he wants to–– he doesn't even know what he wants, because it's 2332 hours and the minutes keep ticking away with each breath he draws in.

"I'm awake now," Aomine replies with a voice that is clearly tinged with drawn-out languidness. His right arm snakes across Kise's back, and once his fingers settle at the nape of Kise's neck, they sort of draw lazy, circular patterns at the base of his scalp. They pause briefly, touching on the strands of damp hair, and when Aomine speaks again Kise can hear the smile in his voice. "You smell like Satsuki's hair looks."

It takes a few seconds for the connection to hit; when it does, Kise's brow straightens with something akin to embarrassment. "Oh, yeah. Some–– some timid assistant dumped peach soda on me today."

"Was that before or after everything imaginable went to shit?"

Kise lifts his head at that on instinct. But the look on Aomine's face –while unarguably amused– bears no trace of mockery; there's genuine curiosity, maybe even a hint of empathy. It's not enough to not make Kise scrunch his nose in suspicion, but enough to leave the actual doubt out of his voice.

"And you know this how?"

Ah, now, at that there's a spark; while Aomine's eyes are still definitely lidded with fatigue, his lips curve up in a one-sided grin that looks almost like a challenge. In truth, Kise cares less about the response and more about kissing that stupid grin off the side of his mouth, but he'll humour Aomine – if just because it's almost impossible not to, what with the way he always seems so sure of himself.

Sure enough, his tone is vaguely matter-of-fact, as though reciting common knowledge.

"You have a tell."

Yeah, Kise's expression is a definite mirror of disbelief.

"A what?"

To his credit, Aomine seems mostly undaunted by this open distrust, and simply shifts his other arm to push Kise's chin between the thumb and index finger of his left hand.

"A tell. There's this tension that sets in your jaw, locks your shoulders, that screams _I've had a shitty day but people expect me to smile through it so whatever_."

"....You're making that up."

"Wh–– am not! Shit, it's been the same ever since you were younger, it's how I knew to avoid you on math exam days. Just ask Tetsu."

"...I'm not calling Kurokocchi at twenty to midnight to ask if he knows the ins and outs of my muscle trajectory."

"Okay, don't believe me. But I was right, wasn't I?"

"...Maybe."

"See? You do have a tell."

"...Shut up, Aominecchi."

"...Also, the whole getting-kicked-in-the-side was kind of a dead giveaway."

"Whatever," Kise literally groans into the creases of Aomine's shirt, but suddenly he feels a lightness in his chest that vacates a spot that was weighed down with hopelessness only moments ago; involuntarily, his mouth pulls into a smile as he tugs on the fabric on Aomine's side, but it brings forth another wave of sadness in its wake as well.

"I..." He falters, but only briefly; the words come whether he really means them to or not. "I'm sorry I was late."

Again, Aomine's fingers come to a brief halt in Kise's hair; it's impossible to tell, with the side of his head still nuzzled against Aomine's chest, but Kise's pretty sure there's something distantly delicate to that voice anyway when the response comes out strangely low, "Well, you're here now, right?"

It washes the sadness out of Kise's smile in a few, single syllables; there's a truth to Aomine's words that neither can nor wants to dispute, like a relief that trickles down his spine and makes him draw in a deep breath.

It's 2347 hours and in fourteen minutes it will be midnight, but it's alright. Because it's still today, they're still here, and even though in a matter of hours these rooms will echo with the bittersweetness of solitude, it's nothing he cannot live down and live with; it's not the first time, it will definitely not be the last, but somehow it only makes the haphazard minutes stretch on like the most cherished thing in the world.

When Kise lifts his head anew and leans forward lightly, Aomine seems less sleepy than before; something very radiant comes alive in his expression by the time Kise mutters, "Don't think I'm not going to call Kurokocchi in the morning and call out your bluff, you know."

That radiance inevitably flows into his own veins, too; whether it's through his fingertips when he cradles the side of Aomine's face, whether it's in the split second tension between their lips before a decisive, spirited kiss, or whether it's simply in the surge of energy that hastens his heartbeat, well, who can tell? Because it leaves him lightheaded anyway; like a playground ride, like a sudden tug of the ground beneath his feet, like the moment Aomine's hands hasten around the small of his back and that initial kiss grows heavier as Kise nudges his teeth apart with his tongue.

And really, looking back, does it make any difference whether he would have woken up this morning when his alarm went off? Would it really have changed anything, had he had gotten home four hours earlier and never gotten soaked in the rain? Because the moment _here_ (in the preordained loneliness, in the choked words of longing that they cannot truly trade with one another yet, in the raw gasps of love that nonetheless escape him with the knowledge that _tomorrow he'll be gone_ ), it exists in this time alone, sealed away within countless of other memories of a life that he would not trade for anything in the world.

The clock hits 0000 hours, but whether Kise ever consciously acknowledges this or not is not relevant. It hits 0027 hours, then 0105 hours, then 0230 hours, and each of these digits comes adorned with a whisper, a laughter, a stifled moan; and time, well it blends unto itself when you're too busy memorizing the delicate arc of another person's hip for the hundredth, kissing the underside of their wrist for the thousandth, even grimacing at their stupid jokes for what it feels might be the seventy-second millionth time; because time is relative, and time is inconsequential, and time is only your enemy if you allow it to be.

_I want you to take a piece of me wherever you go_ , is what Kise feels like saying, when the clock hits 0430 hours and he sits huddled up in one of Aomine's hooded shirts, watching Aomine scramble to finish packing with at least as much panicked fervor (and twice the swear words) as Kise's own rude awakening this morning; the words sit with him, though, silent and observing, because there'll come a moment when he can speak them freely, but that moment is not now.

When Aomine catches him staring, he pulls a face at Kise, then leans over the run his fingers through Kise's hair; when he spends a few extra seconds in finishing the gesture, Kise can't help but frown. "What?"

It's unusual to see Aomine hesitate, and it's not as though that split second isn't gone as soon as it arrives; as expected, he grins a wry, oddly smug smile to conceal that momentary lapse, and shrugs. "You don't smell like peach soda anymore."

The tone of his voice is an invitation and a bait, and Kise rolls his eyes but knows that he will fall for it every time, anyway, in any way. (Will fall for that tone for as long as he lives, to be perfectly honest, but Aomine doesn't need to know that.)

"You're a pervert, Aominecchi," he groans instead and pulls his knees up to his chest before jabbing Aomine away with his elbow, "I can't wait until you're gone."

There's something almost heartfelt to the way Aomine just laughs and glances over his shoulder as he crouches to shuffle through his shoulder bag. "Like you actually mean that."

Kise lifts a single brow, as though on instinct; there's something incredibly cocky and cheeky bubbling up within him that he wants to counter that with, something that will undoubtedly lead to pinned wrists and a tongue along the side of his jaw, but the clock hits 0445 hours and in fifteen minutes Aomine will walk out that door; so instead, he wills the words down along with all the countless more desperate ones that he refuses to think of right now, and just puts on his most convincing, unfazed face instead.

(But he smiles anyway, a more tender and private smile, the second Aomine's not looking; because one of these days he won't feel self-conscious about all the things he wishes he could say, things that both of them know but dance around like an endless waltz of barbed wire, and when that day comes, maybe he'll finally stop counting down the hours for good.)

He hopes, when the clock hits 0500 hours and the door closes behind Aomine's retreating back, that it's no longer raining.

 

 

\- fin


	2. B is for boredom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idiocy can be an art form in many ways.

**B is for boredom**

 

There was something oddly disconcerting about the silence in the large hall.

Not that large halls weren't potentially a source of discomfort in and of themselves; stacked row upon row with vaguely intimidating tomes like something out of a Harry Potter book, most people probably felt reverse-claustrophobic over simply entering one. Had that been the case here though, Aomine probably would have opted for a life of gardening turnips somewhere along the way in his life – no, he was pretty sure he was already used to spacious domes and the heavy echoes bouncing across a gymnasium.

This, though, was no basketball court. This was a goddamn library, and the void of all the sounds he was used to –the screeches and the hasty cries, the roaring weight of adrenaline in his ears– felt unnerving the way only absolute silence can. Each squeak seemed to multiply in his ears like thunder, to the point where even the act of turning a page seemed sacrilegious, lest it interrupt the peace and lull of the half-empty space.

Leaning back on the distinctively uncomfortable, bulky chair let out another disturbing _creak_. He couldn't help it, though; fishing out his phone, he spent a moment staring at the two digital clocks (09:30 and 00:30, respectively) on the display before swiping the keypad lock open. The minimized chat window had last been updated a couple of hours ago, where a simple **yeah yeah** stared Aomine in the face underneath an exuberant _ARE YOU AWAKE YET?!_ :･ﾟ✧

To follow it, he now lazily typed instead,

**what time is it over there?**

There was a pause, during which the status under _Kise_ activated as 'online'.

For all intents and purposes, the entire question was completely moot. Aomine could literally imagine the bright screen of Kise's phone coming alive in the middle of a darkened room, the way Kise would probably groan but reach out for the device anyway; he allowed himself a moment of smug gratification, knowing that as tired as Kise may have been, he probably wouldn't be able to resist responding before the morning.

Sure enough, in a matter of moments the letters 'typing...' confirmed these assumptions true.

_past midnight_

_you know that_

_what do you want_ _?_ (￣。￣)～ｚｚｚ

The smile that tugged on the side of Aomine's mouth was part amused, part sheepish. Yeah, okay, a simple 'I want to talk to you' probably would have sufficed, but it wasn't as if he could type out something like that – not yet, anyway. The entirety of their overseas communication relied on that silent knowledge, which was why Kise never wasted any time getting to the point either. The least he could do was try and pretend to do the same – again, stress on the word 'try'.

**bored**

**at library**

**too many books**

The response to his messages came in rapid succession, little columns pushing themselves onto the screen like tiny bubbles of vivacious laughter that Aomine could practically hear in his head.

_.....eeeh_

_YOU'RE_

_at a library???_ ᕙ(ﾟ ∀ ﾟ)ᕗ

_HAHHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA_

(ﾟ∀ﾟ) (ﾟ ∀ ﾟ) (ﾟ   ∀   ﾟ) (ﾟ   ∀    ﾟ)

God, sometimes Aomine wished he could burn those stupid emoticons with the fire of all that was holy and just in the world; however, since he had yet to master the art of obliterating virtual faces, he settled for a particularly vigorous swipe of his thumb as he typed up a response instead.

**shut up**

**got an english paper to return 2day**

**bakagami kicked me out cos he wanted 2 sleep**

It wasn't really Aomine's fault, if you thought about it; it was Kagami who had refused to help Aomine translate the damn thing, then kicked him in the head to get Aomine out of the dorm room. There was nothing funny about that, yet chances were that in the brief pause that followed, Kise was trying to picture the scene in his head; probably laughing over it too.

Bastards, both of them.

_ok, and the reason you texted me and not someone like Midorimacchi over this is because..._

_wait_

_look im not helping you procrastinate by sexting ok_ Σ(￣。￣ノ)

Seriously, he didn't know how the hell Kise did it, but there was a definite magic in being able to simultaneously sound so insufferably over-confident yet straightforward. (It probably wouldn't have been nearly as insufferable if half the time Kise wasn't also correct, but that wasn't something Aomine would have admitted even at gunpoint.)

**well fuck u too**

**is it that hard to think i just wanted to hear whats up???**

_...you messaged me cos you want to know how my day went?_

**...uh, sure?**

_ok well first i got up at 10 in the morning to go to a casting call and afterwards we had lunch with Momocchi at this new crêpe place near Shibuya that also sells salads but you really don't want to have one with the mayo because its not actually that good and I helped her with work afterwards and then i had a short meeting with some future clients and_

**ok shut up**

**i lied**

**i dont actually give a shit**

_I KNEW IT_ ヾ(*￣O￣)ツ

_youre such an idiot aominecchi_

**shut up**

He couldn't help wanting to groan in frustration; talking to Kise could be near impossible sometimes, which he probably should have anticipated from the get go. This exercise in boredom was quickly turning into an exercise in patience, and if he wanted that he could have just as well had a date with his dictionary.

**look if ur just gonna be an ass i can talk to this hot chick here instead**

There was a definite pause now, before Kise's inevitable response.

_what chick_

...Yeah, that was definitely his cue to get some grade A amusement out of this frustrating exchange. Like a game of bait-and-switch, he could always rely on Kise to ditch his supposedly oblivious front when it came to a challenge; with that, Aomine wasted no time as he briefly minimized the chat window, booted up his browser and spent a moment typing in the following words in the search bar:

[hot + gaijin + library + girl]

Shuffling through the results proved tricky on the limited screen of his phone, but he picked out one that seemed to vaguely fit the part: some brown-haired girl in glasses, holding onto a stack of books while simultaneously trying desperately not to spill out of her low-cut top.

Perfect.

It took the image a few seconds to transfer across the chat once he had saved it onto his picture roll, and another few seconds for Kise's cacophonic responses to hit the feed afterwards:

_YEAH RIGHT_

_youre so full of shit aominecchi_

_i bet that girl isnt even real_

The smile on Aomine's face kept stretching into a grin.

**sorry too busy staring at boobs cant hear what ur sayin**

Afterwards, Kise's status momentarily went offline; whether he had closed the chat or minimized it, Aomine couldn't really say.

When it took Kise a few minutes to respond at all, Aomine couldn't avoid the slow, hesitant suspicion that he had actually pissed Kise off for real – it _was_ late over in Japan, and their entire conversation had teetered on the edge of play-flirty and genuinely asinine since the beginning. Sometimes you just couldn't tell when the wrong word at the wrong time was capable of sending either one of them over the edge, forced to communicate non-verbally over a crummy little chat screen for weeks on end.

But then the familiar 'online' sign popped up underneath Kise's name again; more to the point, he was typing out something no less. Once the words ultimately appeared on the screen, there was a download icon swirling about underneath it.

_WELL CAN YOUR STUPID FAKE LIBRARY GIRLFRIEND DO THIS?!?!_

All things considered, Aomine probably should have known better. Maybe he _did_ know better, but simply didn't heed any of the warning signs; so really, he only had himself to blame when the file finished downloading and his absent-minded thumb pressed play as though on reflex.

How would you define mortification in ten words or less, anyway?

Aomine, now he had probably never expected his specific words to include those such as "Kise's fake-orgasm moan" and "library somewhere in America" or even "three grad students seated at the nearby table," yet here he was.

Never put it past life to teach you new things when you least expect it, huh?

Naturally, he instinctively swore out loud in Japanese out of sheer terror, scrambling to hit pause as fast as he could; yet it felt like the sound had seeped into the walls of the library, fixing a set of confused stares on his panicked figure. Only moments ago he would have said there were only a handful of people in the library with him, but right now it seemed there were entirely too many.

"Uh..." he couldn't help uttering aloud, trying to hazard something to counter those bewildered stares with, and how to actually communicate that in English no less, "...Funny animal videos on Youtube?"

Whether that answer was sufficient enough or not, Aomine didn't bother finding out; instead, he buried his entire face on the screen of his phone, barely managing a legible response.

**THE FUCK**

**A LITTLE WARNING NEXT TIME?!??!?!!?**

Again, he could practically hear the smugness in Kise's voice upon his message; whether it made him frustrated or annoyed, or simply sort of had him wanting to burst out laughing over the sheer absurdity of the moment, it was pretty hard to tell. Maybe all three, since that's how life seemed to usually work with Kise anyway.

_dont tell me you watched that with no headphones on_ ( -_-)

_i cant believe im dating such a loser_

And just like that, all of the frenzy and the rampant hysterics washed out of Aomine's body, like dissolving down his spine; in the seconds it took the words to register with his brain, they left him momentarily speechless, in a way he hadn't anticipated any more than he could properly explain either.

(It wasn't that–– it couldn't really–– It's not like it made a difference whether Kise said things like that out loud, or via text, or whatever, because of course he knew that Kise knew that he knew that.... what?)

(Because it made him feel strangely warm anyway and he––)

_fine whatever youre not even gonna comment on my awesome video_

_so im going to sleep_

_ok?!!!_ (ノಠДಠ)ノ

Biting on his lip, Aomine quickly forced life back into his limbs to string more than two words together.

**the fuck am i meant to do with that rn**

**im in a library**

**i cant just like**

**go whack off between the shelves**

While Kise's former responses had sounded self-indignant and even somewhat disappointed, there was a trace of reborn cheekiness to each syllable when his message bubble popped up:

_that never stopped you before tho_ (￣。￣)～

Shit, what was it with today and these stupid surroundings, making it so easy for all a treacherous heat to light his cheeks aflame like he was sixteen again? God.

**THAT**

**DOES NOT**

**COUNT**

_....because?_

**BECAUSE A) IT WAS A FUCKING SCHOOL LIBRARY IN TOUOU WHEN WE WERE LIKE 18**

**AND B) I DID IT TO YOU**

_.........oh yeah_

_oops_ (･_･ ) ( ･_･)

**AS IF U FORGOT**

_AS IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY TALKING TO A GIRL_

**WHY ARE U STILL FIXED ON THAT**

_WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BAD LIAR_

**SHUT UP**

_YOU SHUT UP_

**GO 2 SLEEP**

_GO STUDY_

**FINE**

_FINE_

A pause.

Aomine took a deep breath, ran his thumb and index finger over the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and pressed 'send'.

**...we gonna sext later 2day tho right**

Barely a pause.

_yeah of course_

The laughter that surged forth from somewhere within his chest was genuine, twisting his mouth into a smile that he was glad Kise couldn't actually see right now.

**go 2 sleep you idiot**

**ill talk 2 u later**

_say hi to kagamicchi for me_ ヽ(゜∇゜)ノ

**have i ever told u how much i hate ur kaomojis**

_screw you aominecchi_ (✧≖‿ゝ≖)

_I'M SLEEPING NOW_

_GOODNIGHT_

**night loser**

There was always a brief pang of apathy he couldn't help settling in his chest when Kise's name went offline for good; for some eight to ten hours there would be complete silence at the other end of the world, time that Aomine supposedly should have been spending on what little was required of him in terms of academics to warrant his scholarship.

But it was increasingly hard to concentrate, what with the silence and the dusty library and the piece of video on his phone that he really would have rather observed in full in slightly less compromising circumstances; the universe was clearly conspiring against him, trying to make this pathetic English paper as much of an ordeal for him as possible.

It couldn't be helped, though; he had managed to waste at least an hour on procrastination, but that would get him nowhere in life – at least not halfway across the world where he could just whine at Satsuki to finish it for him. (Whining at Kagami was proving increasingly harder, because incredibly enough, Kagami didn't actually give a damn.)

Alright. He could do this. He could. He could.

Just a flip of the dictionary and––

well.

Maybe there was room in his life for Kise's stupid emoticons after all, because he could only imagine his expression as one by the time Aomine's eyes landed on the book that screamed _Japanese–German_ instead.

 

 

\- fin


	3. C is for Cycas Revoluta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing lives!!!
> 
> Amazing, I know. But honestly, the main story that these one-shots are part of exists too, it's just taken me forever to figure out how to shape it. That's why I wanted to finish this separate piece, as a reminder to myself why it needs to exist - because all the background info already exists too, in snippets within these shorter stories, and eventually I want to show everyone how these dumbasses got here in the first place.
> 
> In the meantime, though, I hope you have fun with this silly little piece, inspired in part both by [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2892809) wonderful story by BeautifulThief I read ages ago, as well as what was supposed to be a throw-away comment about IKEA in [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3453479) story I wrote.
> 
> Turns out there is nothing that screams aoki like IKEA stupidity. Even the colours match.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

**C is for Cycas Revoluta**

 

"What the shit," Aomine says, "Is a Cycas Revoluta?"

A quadriple-frown remains glued on his forehead as he stares down the neatly-written list in his hand, while the bluntness in his voice echoes the dull thud in Kise's head.

"I don't know," Kise mutters, adjusting his sunglasses in a feeble effort to minimize the ache. "And I don't care. I just want to make it out of here alive, okay?"

For the twenty-seventh time today, Kise swears he will never, ever, honest-to-god never drink again in his life. Not specifically because of the headache, but for all the unfortunate _side-effects_ of said drinking, which may or may not include:

  *          missing the last train of the night
  *          crashing with the one friend unsuspecting enough to pick up the phone
  *          a heightened disposition towards inane arguments and dares
  *          an assortment of damaged household items
  *          a livid Kagamicchi



And that, in essence, is why Kise finds himself at IKEA on a Saturday morning at 1030 hours, hungover as hell, regretting the day he made friends with Kagami Taiga almost as much as the day he first made out with Aomine Daiki.

"I swear I didn't break half of this crap," Aomine mutters, and it's kind of impossible to argue with him since Kise only remembers roughly two thirds of the entire night. "You sure he isn't just trying to score a free desk lamp?"

"No, I–– I did that," Kise cuts him off, trying to hurry them past the family that casts them a curious look on the way in, "I think... I think I threw that out of the window. Because you said I couldn’t still copy Midorimacchi's accuracy enough to hit the utility pole across the street."

"...Well, I was right, wasn't I?"

"...A long range shot. With a _desk lamp_."

"Eh."

"Besides, it was _you_ who kicked a chair pad off the balcony because it was 'looking at you weird'."

"...In my defense, it kind of was."

Kise pauses to rub the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, as soon as he closes his eyes, the hallway begins to spin.

"Let's just get this over with before I hurl," he groans, and the way Aomine huddles deeper into the hood of his sleeveless hoodie seems a lot like agreement.

 

 

 

The fastest route through IKEA takes a solid, foolproof strategy, but right now each attempt to locate the items on their list feels like trying to overtake China. Moreover, Kise's confident he has seen the face of hell, and it looks a lot like a path lined with fake kitchens.

Behind him, Aomine groans when Kise stops for the fifth time to survey a short-cut sign: _Bathroom_ it says in solid letters, but for all Kise knows, treading over to the other side of the wall might only land them in the hidden village of the Leaf.

"If we're lost, I'm punching you in the nuts," comes an impatient mutter, then a rustling of paper where Aomine pulls out Kagami's list. "Listen, all we gotta do is get to the–– well, wherever the hell it is that they sell office supplies."

He pauses, and a frown knits his brows together. "No, wait. We gotta stop by at the bedroom section first."

Something flashes briefly yet vividly in Kise's mind: a memory, one that definitely doesn't rank very high on the chart of Proudest Moments in the Life of Kise Ryouta.

"...The pillows," he says, and it comes out like a swear word. "I–– I totally forgot about those."

"Well, you only destroyed like, three," Aomine shrugs, and decidedly guides Kise along by the shoulders once it becomes apparent that a magical portal will not emerge to save them from this endless maze, "Y'know, one for each time you broke up with me last night."

" _Well none of that would have happened in the first place_ ," Kise snaps, then lowers his voice quickly when attracting more stares from passing old ladies, "If you hadn't started it by dumping half a bowl of oyakodon in my hair."

"I didn't dump it. It slipped. Because you elbowed me in the solar plexus."

"Only because you said my hair looked like that disgusting egg!!"

"And yet, in the end it literally did."

The side of Kise's cheek twitches like it always does when he runs out of things to counter Aomine's ridiculous yet oddly perceptive logic. Pushing up his shades, perhaps it is this annoyance that finally allows him to register a glimpse of what seems like a bedpost behind the next corner.

This brief relief washes out as soon as he turns to find Aomine scratching his head, though.

"...What?"

"I think we're supposed to get more than just pillows," Aomine says, nodding back at the list before reading out loud, " _'P.S. if you guys don't get me new sheets I'm cutting off the soles of all your shoes. No amount of bleach will ever be strong enough to save the ones from last night._ '"

He glances back at Kise, half-confused yet also kind of smug. "Guess he still doesn't realize worse things have happened to his sheets than just a drunken blo––"

" _Blocking the way_ ," Kise hastily cuts him off, as much as he also shoves Aomine off the path of an approaching family.

Caught by surprise, Aomine's stumble sends him into a decorative shelf, and an entire collection of carrot-shaped plushies comes raining off the top. As the plushies land at their feet like a horde of lemmings, Aomine reaches out to pick up one peculiarly smiling one, promptly waving it in the air.

"Are you happy now?!" he wails in terror, "They're all _dead_. You just killed the entire Shuutoku basketball club!!"

It is possibly the worst, dumbest, absolutely lousiest joke any person could make.

Of course it's only natural, then, that in his compromised state it makes Kise burst out into hysterical laughter; sure, the laughing does little to ease the pounding in his head, but what it also does is curve the side of Aomine's mouth with unexpected pride.

"Shit, I finally got you to crack a smile, huh?"

The air in Kise's lungs turns into an abrupt coughing fit. It's hardly the first time that Aomine's hangover-induced honesty has caught him blind-sided, but Kise still blesses the universe for the pair of massive Raybans hiding the sudden warmth on his cheeks.

"What, _that's_ what you were concerned over?" He huffs, puffing out his cheeks, but it must be a pretty transparent attempt to salvage his image since this feigned aloofness is only met with a shove on the forehead.

“All that frowning will mess up your face," Aomine says matter-of-factly, then beckons at the large hall with a sweep of his hand. "And if that causes you to miss a bunch of gigs, then how the hell are we supposed to pay for all these Swedish beds you just bought?”

Suppressing a snort hurts his temples too, but this time Kise's prepared for this game.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before getting us all those kitchens," he replies, pulling down the shades down the bridge of his nose, "You do realize I can't cook in one, let alone ten."

Something wordless passes in the mischievousness of Kise's tone, one he knows Aomine can easily recognize; and maybe the two of them are roughly ten years too old for this kind of thing, but then, what reason is there ever to visit IKEA if not for juvenile make-believe?

"Eh," Aomine says, hooking one lazy arm around Kise's shoulders, "There's a reason none of them come with a working stove."

 

 

 

Alright, so this kind of thing really won't help them get out of IKEA any faster, but anyone who has ever degenerated into a twelve-year-old at a furniture store knows it's a charade that's also very hard to quit.

"Haah, isn't my new study amazing? This corner station here – maybe I should give up modeling and acting and become a writer. Look, there's even a laptop on the desk–– wait, no, none of the buttons work."

The pout on Kise's face is exaggerated, met with a shrug across the pathway where Aomine leans back in the chair of his own, fake office.

"Maybe it's got one of those child protection locks on it. Except, for idiots."

"Or just for really pretty people," Kise squints, pushing the laptop back. "Because the world clearly can’t handle so much talent in one person.”

Aomine's chair lets out a little creak when he spins around at his heels.

“Yeah, I’m sure if the world was ever subjected to a novel-length version of your face care regime, it might spontaneously implode."

“Hey! As if you’re literate enough to say what constitutes as worthwhile reading.”

"Pfft. Just look at all these fucking books on the shelves of _my_ study. How smart am I."

“…They're all the _same book_ , Aominecchi."

"Well maybe I just really love that one book, huh?!”

“But they don't even have any pages."

"See? Best book ever.”

As Kise's composure breaks, he swears through the bursts of laughter. In the office across his, Aomine throws his hands in the air with glee.

"I win again! I can’t believe you’re so shit at this, for someone who wasn’t fazed even by my coach catching you in our locker room.”

“I'm in a vulnerable state right now,” Kise mutters, reaching back to his feet. So maybe he’s already laughed at their fake dinner conversation about ‘little Tetsu and Satsuki’s educational prospects', or Aomine’s impersonation of an enraged Murasakibara in a kitchen filled with empty fridges; that doesn’t mean Aomine’s actually funny, it just means one fourth of Kise is probably still drunk.

“You’re just weak,” Aomine shrugs, stretching out his arms as he crosses over to Kise’s side of the office area, “Wanna head back to the bedroom section? I bet all the old ladies there have moved onto stuffing their faces with cheap meatballs.”

“We’re not taking a nap at IKEA,” Kise says, if only because he feels like he owes it to someone –Momoi? Kuroko? Common decency?– that someone does; yet he doesn’t resist when Aomine pulls him along, any more than he resists thumping face first into a double mattress like a beached starfish.

“We’re never getting out of here,” he groans defeatedly into an ornamental pillow, shifting only to pull off his shades to save them from getting crushed. “I’m gonna die a twenty-something B-list idol, mummified in a cheap rug with a name no-one knows how to pronounce.”

“Nah,” Aomine’s response comes in an unexpectedly empathetic tone, a hand reaching out to brush at the hair on the nape of Kise’s neck. “As if a tiny hangover could come between you and your goals.”

“What would you know about my goals,” Kise mutters, but closes his eyes on instinct at the touch.

“…Well, I know you want to make A-list, for one,” Aomine says, “Because you don’t want to live in that cramped flat of yours forever.”

There’s a brief pause, like sudden hesitation before it dissolves. “At least, not alone.”

Kise opens his eyes.

This time, he turns his head enough to catch Aomine staring at the ceiling, and it takes him a moment –ten, fifteen seconds– to open his mouth.

“…You think one of these days we won’t just be faking buying all this furniture?”

It sends a definite twitch into Aomine’s shoulders, but when he glances over at Kise, something wry pulls at his smile. “You mean, you _want_ a house with fifteen beds and ten kitchens?”

“ _No_ ,” Kise says, narrowing his eyes, “I mean… when Kagamicchi decided to come back after the scholarship ended, he said it was because he’d rather play here. And I know it’s still a while before your current contract is up, but…”

He lets the rest of the sentence fade like the words always do, in an attempt to guard himself with the chance of _oh, that’s not at all what I implied_ ; but it’s become predictable enough that Kise no longer feels as vulnerable when Aomine’s smile deepens as he says,

“…Well, guess we’ll just have to see if there’s something worth coming back to when it does.”

Good thing there's another godforsaken carrot at an arm's length, because it's all Kise can do to hide his fluster by slamming one in Aomine's face.

“You’re horrible,” he complains, but not for the sentiment itself; because it's Aomine's way of saying _I know_ as much as this is Kise's way of saying _I know you do_ , even if he cannot resist adding a melodramatic, "And starting from today, I'm never listening to a single thing you say."

“Should have started that last night, before we bowled over a dozen glasses with a basketball,” Aomine duly notes, shrugging Kise's feeble threats off with as much ease as Kise dishes them around; however, the next second his eyes light up, and Aomine springs up on the mattress like he's had another suspicious idea. “Which reminds me. We gotta head for the kids’ section next.”

"...Why?" Kise asks, knowing full well he might not want to hear the answer. "Doesn't that only mean we're supposed to get Kagamicchi a new set of drinking glasses?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Aomine's smile breaks into a full grin. “Yeah, but he didn't specify the _size_."

See, the logical part of Kise knows he should be groaning.

Unfortunately, that logical part is often eclipsed by that treacherous one fourth of him, which _does_ legitimately find Aomine’s words funny.

Somehow, when Kise pushes back in motion to follow Aomine, it feels like a metaphor for their entire shared life.

 

 

 

"Okay, I have to admit, I didn't think those two would _actually_ buy all the stuff I asked for. But I'm also fairly... no, I'm _positive_ I didn't ask for all this crap."

"Kagami-kun, did they get the Cycas Revoluta?"

"Yeah, your plant's there, I'll bring it the next time I come over. But you can also have these five plush basketballs that, for some reason, someone thought I should own."

"That must have been Aomine-kun. His sense of humour can be... well, an acquired taste."

"Why're you telling me?! I shared a dorm room with that idiot for longer than any person should ever be subjected to–– hey, wait. What the hell? Is there a goddamn elk on these sheets?!"

"You don't like elks, Kagami-kun?"

"That's not the point. I'm just going through all the–– goddammit, what am I going to do with a 7-piece toy baking set?!"

"...Maybe Kise-kun couldn't tell it apart from a real one."

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me, but..."

"But isn't it also kind of thoughtful? They made an effort, even if it was in their own, weird way."

"I wish I had the kind of friends whose ways included less _weird_ and more _look, Taiga, here's 300 000 yen just for being the most patient person in the world_."

"I can go along next time, and make sure they stick to the list."

"...I was going to ask why you're so confident that there's ever going to _be_ a next time, but then I realized those idiots are probably gonna be fighting over floor lamps in IKEA even by the time they hit forty."

"It is possible."

"...Ugh. I was hoping you wouldn't actually agree."

"Well, look at it this way, Kagami-kun."

"Hmm?"

"Even if that turned out to be the worst case scenario, one of these days you might score yourself a free kitchen."

 

 

 

\- fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each item in this story exists in real life. I'd link you, but then I'd become a walking poster ad for IKEA, and they aren't paying me enough for that.
> 
> There's a logic behind the chronology, though it's not necessarily in order in this collection of one-shots. One way or the other, I'm trying to chain myself to this thing so I'll finally finish the draft for the main story too, haha.


End file.
